By Garrett Hedman

I love 5am mornings, especially when I can walk outside and my glasses can be an anecdote for the lesson on condensation I’m giving in two days. That is, I walk out of the dorms of Delta State University, tie askew, zombiing my way to breakfast, and my glasses fog because of the heat and humidity…at 5am in the morning. What I do for these kids. students. scientists. Yeah, I like scientists.

They don’t know that I’ve woken up at 5am for the past two weeks to make sure I’m the best teacher I can be for them. They don’t know that I’ve been going to bed at 12:30am to finalize lesson plans on atomic structure. They don’t know.

A place of rest and comfort at institute has been an art garden by the Bologna Performing Arts Center. A small fountain sits in the middle of the garden’s entangled pathway of abstract sculptures. I have methodically walked around the edges of the fountain rehearsing my “teacher voice”, an assertive, caring, confident, firm voice. “I see the bronze sculpture is behaving quietly today.” The garden is also where I try to inspire the stone statue without a head that “It can learn. It will learn.” The garden is my education sanctuary.

The scientists don’t know I’ve spent hours rehearsing what I’m going to say to them. That way, when I’m in front of my class, I can act as if my knowledge of chemical bonds is second nature to me. They don’t know.

I’ve worked relentlessly for four years in college to understand how we learn, problem solve, and make decisions. That work means nothing to the students.

I’ve cried over the stories of triumph that have inspired me to teach in the Mississippi Delta. Those tears mean nothing to the students.

But I know. I know what I’ve done.

So I take a breath. I put on a smile, and I say, “Good morning class, my name is Mr. Hedman.”

Two years ago, I was sitting in a circle of chairs with fellow 4th and 5th grade story tellers at a Montessori school in Boulder, CO. I told them the beginning of a story about Rotten Tots the homeless man who was looking for place to live, and then I had each student give an example of what could happen next to Mr. Tots in the story. Their continuations were typical. However, half way around the circle, a 4th grader, let’s call him Mark, had decided that sitting with his head hanging from the chair and his feet up in the air would help him think better. Seeing this as an opportunity to be “innovators”, all the story tellers reversed their direction of sitting, including myself. I commented, “This is it! We can look at a story one way, but looking at it in a different way can be even more exciting!” The learners laughed and thought of incredibly creative examples to continue the story with their head on the ground.

Now, I’m going to tell this story again from a Teach for Americaesque approach according to what I’ve learned through training this week.

Two years ago, I was sitting in a circle of desks with the class of 2016 in an elementary school in Denver, CO (the year indicates the year they will graduate college). I wanted to teach them about brainstorming. I wrote the word “present” on a timeline and drew three different arrows branching from the line to indicate three different paths for the future. I wrote down three things I could be doing at the same time next year: living in Jamaica, playing the piano, or teaching. This was the “I do” part of the lesson. Then, I asked a student, let’s call him Mark, “where do you want to be in one year?” He excitedly answered, “I want to be in 5th grade after passing the state writing test.” This was the “we do” part of the lesson. I gave him a HollaDollar for participating. Afterward, I allowed each student to finish their their own webs, the “you do” part of the lesson plan. As they left class, they had homework to brainstorm three different professions they would want to work in, which would allow me to know more about the students and know whether or not they understand brainstorming.

What a difference!? To only imagine what students learned in each lesson! I’m a Dewyist, discovery-man at heart, but I’m very interested in seeing how Teach for America changes how I think about education.

I recently met with my cooperating teacher from where I will be student teaching, Rachel (Not her real name), a veteran of 5 years. She teaches debate, American Literature, and AP language. Through the few times we have met, it has become abundantly clear that her passion lies not with the content, but in the success of her students.  I liked her immediately. At our most recent meeting, Jeni asked me something that scared me, confused me, and made me want to hide a little bit. She asked me a question that no one has ever asked me before at any level of my schooling. She asked me, “Nate, what is your threshold for pain?”

Wow.

How does one answer this question? What is your threshold for pain? I have had my wisdom teeth removed – does that answer the question? I had my arm dislocated when I was a six – but I really don’t remember what that felt like, so that shouldn’t count either, right?

What is your threshold for pain?

Maybe she was more referring to my capacity for pain academically. I’ve pulled approximately 13 all-nighters in my academic career – writing papers, studying for multiple-choice tests, and memorizing lines from Shakespeare plays – but does this illustrate my threshold for pain? Does this help describe how much I can take?

What is your threshold for pain?

Perhaps she was referring to something else entirely. Conceivably, she was citing what I’ve heard many times before, from many different teachers – that teaching is the hardest job in the world. Perhaps she was referring to the profession where working 40-hour weeks would be a luxury, and not caring about your students is the eighth deadly sin. Perhaps she was referring to the profession where my paycheck will be an insult to paychecks, and so I’ll judge debate tournaments not only to be there for my students, but also to help make ends meet.

What is your threshold for pain?

I’m not sure. Maybe she was referring to all of these – maybe none of them. Either way, I start training to teach summer school this week. I guess I’ll find out how much threshold for pain I have soon enough.

I do know one thing though.  I’m excited to find out.